Summoning up a smile, and a look of inquiry, Eustacie said, as though startled: ‘Oh! Why, who are you?’
The Bow Street officer looked up, and finding that he was being addressed by a young and enchantingly pretty female, laid the journal down upon the table and rose to his feet. He touched his hat, and said that he was wishful to see the landlord.
‘But yes, of course!’ said Eustacie. ‘You have come on the mail-coach, sans doute, and you want a drink! I understand!’
By this time the Runner had assimilated the fact that she was not English. He did not care for foreigners, but her instant grasp of his most pressing need inclined him to regard her with less disapproval than he might otherwise have done. He did not precisely admit that he wanted a drink, but he said that it was a very cold, raw day to be sure, and waited hopefully to see what she would do about it.
‘Yes,’ she said, ‘and it is, moreover, very draughty in a coach. I think you ought to have some cognac.’
The Runner thought so too. He had not wanted to come down to Sussex on what would probably turn out to be a wild-goose chase. He felt gloomily that he would not have been chosen for the task if the authorities over him had set much store by the information lodged with them, for he was not at the moment in very good odour at Bow Street. Such epithets as Blockhead and Blunderer had been used in connection with his last case, since when he had not been employed upon any very important business. In his more optimistic moments he dreamed rosily of the glory attaching to the capture of so desperate a character as Ludovic Lavenham, but when his throat was dry and his fingers chilled he did not feel optimistic.
‘When Nye comes he must at once give you some cognac,’ announced Eustacie. ‘But I do not understand what you are doing here and you have not told me who you are.’
The Runner was not much acquainted with the Quality, but it did occur to him that it was a little unusual for young ladies to address strange men in public coffee-rooms. He bent a penetrating and severe eye upon her, and replied, awe-inspiringly, that he was an Officer of the Law.
Eustacie at once clasped her hands together, and cried: ‘I thought you were! Are you perhaps a Bow Street Runner?’
The Runner was accustomed to having his identity discovered with fear, or even loathing, but he had not till now encountered anyone who became ecstatic upon learning his dread profession. He admitted that he was a Runner, but looked so suspiciously at Eustacie that she made haste to explain that in France they had no such people, which was the reason why she was so particularly anxious to meet one.
When she mentioned France the Runner’s brow cleared. The French, what with their guillotines and one thing and another, were the worst kind of foreigners, and it was no use being surprised at them behaving queerly. They were born that way; there wasn’t any sense in them; and the silly habit they had of holding that everyone was equal accounted for this young lady speaking so friendly to a mere Bow Street Runner.
‘You are one of the famous Runners!’ said Eustacie, regarding him with rapt admiration. ‘You must be very brave and clever!’
The Runner coughed rather self-consciously, and murmured something inarticulate. He had not previously given the matter much thought, but now the lady came to mention it he realized that he was rather a brave man.
‘What is your name?’ inquired Eustacie. ‘And why have you come here?’
‘Jeremiah Stubbs, miss,’ said the Runner. ‘I am here in the execution of my dooty.’
Eustacie opened her eyes to their widest extent, and asked breathlessly whether he had come to make an arrest. ‘How I should like to see you make an arrest!’ she said.
Mr Stubbs was not impervious to flattery. He threw out his chest a little, and replied with an indulgent smile that he couldn’t say for certain whether he was going to make an arrest or not.
‘But who?’ demanded Eustacie. ‘Not someone in this inn?’
‘A desprit criminal, missy, that’s the cove I’m after,’ said Mr Stubbs.
Eustacie’s straining ears caught the sound of an opening door upstairs and a light footfall. She said as loudly as she dared: ‘I suppose you, who are a Bow Street Runner, have to capture a great many criminals?’ As she spoke she moved towards the fire, so that to address her Mr Stubbs had to turn slightly, presenting his profile, and no longer his full face to the staircase.
‘Oh well, miss,’ he said carelessly, ‘we don’t take much account of that!’
Eustacie caught a glimpse of Ludovic at the top of the stairs, and said quickly: ‘Bow Street Runners! It must be very exciting to be a Bow Street Runner, I think!’ She glanced up as she spoke, and saw that Ludovic had vanished. Feeling almost sick with relief, she pressed her handkerchief to her lips, and said mechanically: ‘Who is this criminal, I wonder? A thief, perhaps?’
‘Not a thief, miss,’ said Mr Stubbs. ‘A murderer!’
The effect of this announcement was all he had hoped for. Eustacie gave a shriek and faltered: ‘Here? A m-murderer? Arrest him at once, if you please! But at once!’
‘Ah!’ said Mr Stubbs, ‘if I could do that everything would be easy, wouldn’t it? But this here murdering cove has been evading of the law for two years and more.’
‘But how could he evade you, who must, I know, be a clever man, for two years?’
Mr Stubbs began to think rather well of Eustacie, French though she might be. ‘That’s it,’ he said. ‘You’ve put your finger on it, missy, as the saying is. If they’d had me on to him at the start p’raps he wouldn’t have done no evading.’
‘No, I think not, indeed. You look very cold, which is not at all a thing to wonder at when one considers that there is a great courant d’air here. I will take you into the parlour, where it is altogether cosy, and procure for you a glass of cognac.’
Mr Stubbs’s eye glistened a little, but he shook his head. ‘It’s very kind of you, miss, but I’ve a fancy to stay right where I am, d’ye see? You don’t happen to be staying in this here inn, do you?’
‘But certainly I am staying here!’ responded Eustacie. ‘I am staying with Sir Hugh Thane, who is a Justice of the Peace, and with Miss Thane.’
‘You are?’ said Mr Stubbs. ‘Well now, that’s a very fortunate circumstance, that is. You don’t happen to have seen anything of a young cove – a mighty flash young cove – Lurking?’
Eustacie looked rather bewildered, and said: ‘Plaît-il? Lurking?’
‘Or sulking?’ suggested Mr Stubbs. He drew forth from his pocket a well-worn notebook, and, licking his thumb, began to turn over its pages.
‘What is that?’ asked Eustacie, eyeing the book with misgiving.
‘This is my Occurrence Book, missy. There are plenty of coves would like to get their dabblers on it, I can tell you. There’s things in this book as’ll send a good few to the Nubbing Cheat one day,’ said Mr Stubbs darkly.
‘Oh,’ said Eustacie, wishing that Nye would come, and wondering how to lure Mr Stubbs away from the stairs. If only Ludovic had not injured his shoulder he might have climbed out of a window, she thought, but with one arm in a sling that was out of the question.
Mr Stubbs, finding his place in his Occurrence Book, said: ‘Here we are, now. Has there been a young cove here, missy, with blue eyes, light hair, features aquiline, height about five feet ten inches –’
Eustacie interrupted this recital. ‘But yes, you describe to me Sir Hugh Thane, only he is taller, I think, and me, I should say that he has grey eyes.’
‘The cove this here description fits is a cove by the name of Loodervic Lavenham,’ said Mr Stubbs.
Eustacie at once executed a start. ‘But you are mad? Ludovic Lavenham is my cousin, enfin !’
Mr Stubbs stared at her fixedly. ‘You say this Loodervic Lavenham’s your cousin, miss?’ he said, his voice pregnant with suspicion.
�
�Of course he is!’ replied Eustacie. ‘He is a very wicked creature who has brought disgrace to us, and we do not speak of him even. Why have you come to look for him? He went away from England two years ago!’
Mr Stubbs caressed his chin, still keeping his eyes on Eustacie’s face. ‘Oh!’ he said slowly. ‘He wouldn’t happen to be staying in this inn right now, I suppose?’
‘Staying here?’ gasped Eustacie. ‘In the same place with me ? No! I tell you, he is in disgrace – quite cast-off !’
‘Ah!’ said Mr. Stubbs. ‘What would you say if I was to tell you that this very Loodervic Lavenham is lurking somewhere in these parts?’
‘I do not think so,’ said Eustacie, with a shake of her head. ‘And I hope very much that it is not true, because there has been enough disgrace for us, and we do not desire that there should be any more.’ An idea occurred to her. She added, ‘I see now that you are a very brave man, and I will tell you that if my cousin is truly in Sussex you must be excessively careful.’
Mr Stubbs looked at her rather more fixedly than before. ‘Oh, I must, must I?’ he said.
‘You have not been warned then?’ cried Eustacie, shocked.
‘No,’ said Mr Stubbs. ‘I ain’t been warned particular.’
‘But it is infamous that they have not told you!’ declared Eustacie. ‘Je n’en reviendrai jamais !’
‘If it’s all the same to you, miss, I’d just as soon you’d talk in a Christian language,’ said Mr Stubbs. ‘What was it they had ought to have warned me about?’
Eustacie spread out her hands. ‘His pistols!’ she said dramatically. ‘Do you not know that my cousin is the man who put out sixteen candles by shooting them, and did not miss one?’
Mr Stubbs cast an involuntary glance behind him. ‘He put out sixteen candles?’ he demanded.
‘But yes, have I not said so?’
‘And he didn’t miss one of them?’
‘He never misses,’ said Eustacie.
Mr Stubbs drew in his breath. ‘They had ought to have warned me!’ he said feelingly.
‘Certainly they –’ Eustacie broke off, startled by a crash in the room above their heads, and the muffled sound of a shriek. Who could possibly be upstairs save Ludovic, she could not imagine, but Ludovic would hardly shriek, even if he had knocked something over in one of the bedchambers.
Then, to her amazement, she heard a door open, and hurrying footsteps approach the head of the stairs. A high-pitched voice wailed: ‘Oh, oh, what shall I do? Oh, Mr Nye, look what I’ve done!’ And down the stairs came a gawky female in a large mob-cap and a stuff gown which Eustacie, transfixed by astonishment, instantly recognized as Miss Thane’s. A shawl enveloped the apparition’s shoulders, and she held one corner of it up to her eyes with her left hand. In her right she carried the fragments of a flagon that had once contained Miss Thane’s French perfume. ‘Oh, Mr Nye!’ she whimpered. ‘Mistress will kill me if she finds out – oh!’ The last word took the form of a scream as the new-comer caught sight of Eustacie. ‘Oh, miss, I beg pardon!’ she gasped. ‘I thought you was gone out! I’ve – I’ve had an accident, miss! Oh, I’m that sorry, miss, I’m sure.’
Eustacie made a strangled sound in her throat, and rose nobly to the occasion. Running forward, she seized the gawky female’s right wrist, and cried in a quivering voice: ‘Wretched, wicked creature! You have broken my scent bottle! Ah, it is too much, enfin !’
The jagged fragments of glass were relinquished into her keeping, and with them, slid into the palm of her hand, a great ruby ring.
Nine
A torrent of impassioned French smote the Runner’s bemused ears. He stared, quite aghast, at Eustacie, who had changed in a flash from a pleasant-spoken young female into a raging virago. She snatched the jagged fragments of glass from the abigail’s hand, broke into English for one moment to implore Mr Stubbs to look at what the wicked, clumsy creature had done, threw the fragments into the grate, shook the abigail, and in French said rapidly: ‘He means to search the house. Have you taken your clothes out of your room? Answer yes, or no!’
‘Oh yes, miss, indeed I took them to Sir Hugh’s room, like you told me!’
Mr Stubbs began to feel sorry for the hapless abigail, whose sobs grew more and more shattering. This suddenly terrible little Frenchwoman seemed to have what he would call a real spiteful temper. Nothing appeased her; he was not at all surprised to see the abigail so frightened; he wouldn’t put it beyond the young lady to box the poor girl’s ears at any moment.
In the middle of this spirited scene Nye came into the coffee-room with Clem at his heels, and stopped upon the threshold, transfixed by astonishment. For a moment he did not connect Ludovic with the great gawky girl, noisily weeping into her shawl, but before he had time to speak, Eustacie whirled round to face him, and poured forth a string of complaints about her supposed abigail. She desired him to tell her whether she had not sufficient cause to hand the girl over to the Law, and indicated with a sweep of her hand the presence of a Bow Street Runner.
Nye, who had caught the glint of pale-gold hair peeping from under the gawky female’s mob-cap, now observed that her left arm seemed in some odd fashion to be wound up in her voluminous shawl. The puzzled look vanished from his face; he came farther into the room, and joined with Eustacie in reproaching ‘Lucy’ for her carelessness. Mr Stubbs, quite overwhelmed by so much loud and confused talk, withdrew to the other end of the room, and mopped his brow. He gazed at Eustacie in growing consternation, and took a hasty step backward when she suddenly rounded on him and demanded why he stood there doing nothing, instead of instantly arrest ‘Lucy.’
‘Oh come, miss! Come, now!’ said Nye soothingly. ‘It’s not as bad as that! The wench meant no harm. I’ll have Clem take up a pail of water and a scrubbing-brush, or we’ll have the whole house reeking of scent.’
‘And in my room!’ exclaimed Eustacie. ‘It is an outrage! It must be at once scrubbed, and I will tell you that it is Lucy herself who shall scrub it, for it is not at all Clem’s fault. Up, you!’
The Runner, seeing ‘Lucy’ driven towards the staircase, heaved a sigh of relief. Mistress and maid vanished from sight; Clem, at a nod from Nye, went away to draw a pail of water; and Nye turned to his unwelcome visitor, and said with a wry smile, and a jerk of his thumb over his shoulder: ‘Them Frenchies!’
‘Unchristian, that’s what I call ’em,’ responded Mr Stubbs severely. ‘I fair compassionate that wench.’
‘She’ll be turned off,’ said Nye with a resigned shrug. ‘That will make the third in as many weeks. Miss has the temper of the fiend, as I know. What can I do for you?’
Above, in Miss Thane’s bedchamber, Eustacie, from whom stifled giggles had escaped all the way up the stairs, sank down upon the bed, and with her handkerchief pressed to her mouth, gave way to inextinguishable laughter. Ludovic, twisting the shawl more securely round his arm, said: ‘Of all the spitfires! I wouldn’t be a maid of yours for any money. Now what’s the matter?’
‘You l-look so rid-ridiculous!’ gasped Eustacie, rocking herself to and fro.
Ludovic looked critically at his reflection in the mirror. ‘A fine, strapping girl,’ he said. ‘But what beats me is how you females ever contrive to dress at all. I couldn’t do up the plaguey hooks and eyes on this gown. That’s why I took the shawl. I don’t care for Sarah’s scent much, do you?’
Indeed, the room reeked of heavy scent. Eustacie raised her head to say unsteadily: ‘But of course not, a whole bottle of it. It is affreux ! Open the window! Those Runners have come for you, Ludovic. What are we to do?’
He had thrust open one of the casements, and was leaning out to breathe the unscented air, but he turned his head at that. ‘How many of them are there?’
‘Two. There is one on guard over the backstairs. I think it is Basil who must have told them to
look for you here.’
‘I saw the one on the backstairs. If there are no more than two, and Nye can’t fob them off, we’d better lock them up in the cellar, I think. Just until I’ve found my ring,’ he added reassuringly, seeing Eustacie’s face of disapproval.
‘But no, for if we lock them up we shall be put in prison for it!’
‘There is that, of course,’ agreed Ludovic. ‘Still, if only I should clear myself of this murder charge I shouldn’t mind taking the risk. Ten to one we’d get off with a fine.’
They were still arguing the point when Clem appeared with a pail and a scrubbing-brush. They pounced upon him for news, and he was able to tell them that Nye had the situation well in hand, and had already gone far towards convincing the Runners that they had been sent to look for a mare’s nest. At the moment he was regaling them with brandy, after which he had promised to conduct them personally all over the inn. Hearing this, Eustacie was at once struck by the notion of spreading a few pieces of female apparel about Ludovic’s room. She went off to do this, leaving Ludovic with instructions to start scrubbing the floor the instant he heard the Runners ascending the stairs.
By the time Mr Stubbs, fortified by brandy, did come up, Eustacie had returned to Miss Thane’s room, and no sooner did Nye tap on the door, asking whether the officer might come in, than she broke forth again into indignant repinings. Both the Runner and Nye were adjured to come in and judge for themselves whether the smell of the perfume would ever be got rid of. When Nye asked permission for the Runner to search the room, she first stared at him with an expression of outrage on her face, and then flung open the door of the cupboard and said tragically that it needed only this, that a great rough man should pry into her wardrobe. She begged Mr Stubbs not to consider her feelings in the least degree, but to pull all her dresses out, and throw them on the floor if he pleased. Mr Stubbs, acutely uncomfortable, assured her that he had no desire to do anything of the kind. She said that she wished she were back in France, where ladies were treated with civility, and, covering her face with her handkerchief, burst into tears. Ludovic, inexpertly scrubbing the damp patch on the floor, sniffed dolefully over the pail of water, and the Runner, casting a perfunctory glance into the wardrobe and another under the bed, beat a somewhat hasty retreat.